A Widow's To-Do List
by Skinnyblackgirl
Summary: A Juice/Kyra story. He tore their marriage apart and died before she could divorce him. How do you mourn an estranged husband? Follows the events of Season 7. Juice/OC
1. Chapter 1

_**[A/N: Hi, guys! If you're new here, I write a series of fanfic about Juice and his girlfriend/wife Kyra, a black girl from Oakland I introduced in my first fic, "The Sweetest Taboo" and developed further in "The Evolution of Kyra James." I recommend reading those before you get into this. (They're on my profile). I've been sitting on this short about Juice's death since SOA ended. It follows the events of season 7. I know I keep saying I'm coming back to fanfic, then leaving stories incomplete. I make no promises this time. :-) ]**_

Kyra did everything required of her.

Identified the body.

Notified his mother.

Arranged a memorial attended by five people-herself, his estranged parents, his business partner at the weed shop, Chibs.

Put the house on the market.

Packed their shit.

Talked to the attorney.

Closed his bank accounts.

Settled his debts.

Made an appointment to have his tattoo-the crow on her back, just below her right shoulder-removed.

She was back at her apartment in Sacramento-she moved a month prior to his death to prepare for a divorce they never endured. _'Til death do us part_ , she thought as she lay on the living room floor smoking a joint. She inhaled the smoke, rolled it around her tongue and blew at the ceiling. Like he did at the end of a difficult day.

Her Widow's To-Do List complete, she had nothing to do but remember his letter. The white envelope with her name in his neat, angular handwriting, tucked among his belongings from Stockton. His final words to her. "I won't waste your time with another apology. You're sick of me saying sorry," he wrote. "I don't blame you if you wish we never met, but I don't regret loving you. You made me more of a man than my kutte ever did. I guess that's easy to say now that it doesn't matter."

Of course, he only saw it staring down a lonely death. Not after Tara got locked up. Or when Opie was bludgeoned to death. Or when Neeta almost died in one of the break-ins Clay orchestrated in his quest to unseat Jax as President. Watching her aunt breathe through tubes, Kyra knew she would leave him. He'd never abandon the club. She couldn't stay, knowing they'd nearly killed Neeta. "How many lives get ruined before you realize SAMCRO doesn't love any of you?" she asked.

Tara. Gemma. Even Jax. All swallowed up and spit out by that damn Reaper.

Juice sacrificed their marriage and his life for what? The details of his autopsy told a terrifying tale of his last days. _All that bullshit to die alone in a cell-no wife, no club._ "Dumb ass," she croaked through tears. She hated him. She hated that death wouldn't let her hate him.

He was a coward. He was a fool. He was the love of her fucking life. He was gone.

She touched the crow on her back and checked the time. Her tattoo removal appointment was fifteen minutes ago.

She curled up and sobbed.


	2. On the Way (Special Bonus)

**[A/N: For everyone who wondered what Kyra is up to, post-Juice. Because our girl deserves a happy ending. :-) The following is only SOA-adjacent and takes place two years after Juice's death. Enjoy!]**

 **On the Way (Bonus Story)**

Julian hated galas. He didn't mind the dressing up-he spent too much money on clothes not to enjoy them- the pictures and politics bored him. He couldn't even remember which association this was for? Was it the Sacramento Black Bar Association or The Urban League? He toyed with his glass of Macallan 25 and surveyed the room wondering how long before the next Michelle-In-Search-of-Her-Barack joined him at the bar to chat him up about her last trip to Cuba. Since the _40 Under 40_ feature two years ago, he'd met (and fucked) his share of strategic daters. They too bored him.

He walked his drink out to the hotel balcony. The quiet night and crisp air filling his lungs raised his spirits for the moment. His Stanford Law classmates gave him shit for choosing Sacramento as his stomping ground, but fuck that. He was a name partner at 41 and a newly crowned prince of the state capital while they were kissing ass and fighting for billable hours in the Bay. Nights like tonight-gazing into the twinkling downtown skyline-he felt the city wink at him, inviting him to take her. Speaking of which...

He fished his phone out of his jacket pocket and snapped a photo. "Night would be so much better if I was fucking you over this balcony right now" he typed and hit send. The text's recipient had an event of her own and was probably wearing that black dress she modeled in his living room two nights prior. The dress that looked deceptively conservative in the front, but revealed her toned back and accented every curve of her hips and ass. The dress he almost ripped off after she cat walked across his hardwood floors.

His phone vibrated in his hand with the notification "New Message from Kyra James." A picture of her arched foot with red-painted toes, covered by a strappy black sandal danced across the screen. "In these shoes, I imagine?" she responded.

"Yep. From the back. My hand over your mouth so we don't make too much noise" he typed. His pants tightened at the thought. He had to pull his shit together before someone caught him with a hard on. Imagine that shit. Julian Davis. Hot shot attorney. Busted jerking off on a hotel balcony.

He wondered how she'd work at events like this? It'd be typical-popping up with a doe-eyed ingenue ten years younger than him. Men would give the thumbs up. Women would note her age and resume and deem him too lazy to meet the challenge of his female peers. He chuckled. Kyra looked the part of the girl-next-door; she was anything but. Measured, focused, and perceptive. Quiet but not shy. Mature beyond her years, which told him she'd been through some shit (as did the strange crow tattoo on her back) but he liked it. She was a survivor. And like him, she had little room or desire for attachments.

His phone buzzed again. "Stop getting me all wound up in this room full of boring CPAs."

That's right. She was at her firm's holiday party and likely as bored as he was. "So you don't wanna know I'm thinking about leaving early and telling my driver to pick you up?" He paused a beat before following up "...and making you come on my fingers in the back seat of my car?"

She answered in less than a minute. "How soon can you leave?"

He checked the time. He was at the gala two hours. Had his picture taken and shook the right hands. He finished his scotch and left his tumbler on the rail. "Text me the address. On the way."


End file.
